


the great expanse of space

by smithens



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, Dante Alighieri - Freeform, Intimacy, Intoxication, M/M, Stargazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 02:56:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10958202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithens/pseuds/smithens
Summary: Combeferre seemed content to press his face against Prouvaire’s knees and speak endlessly of the heavens, interrupting himself more than he elucidated, talking of progress in a modern Paris observatory and in an ancient Grecian field in the same breath.





	the great expanse of space

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally posted on tumblr, and then in my drabble collection [frisson révolutionnaire](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7718086/). i've revised it to include more from the draft so i can feel good about posting it separately. thank you to ao3 user crimsondust who commented on it back when it was first posted & to nicholas who prompted it in the first place. ♥

“To think of it,” Combeferre was saying, his words muffled slightly due to his position — Prouvaire could feel very thoroughly the vibrations of his voice against his knee, “to think — if such a hypothesis is supported by mathematics, it is more feasible to — to investigate the prospect. Thus proceeds the scientific method. Astronomists do astonish me.”

The way he spoke, Jean Prouvaire received the impression that he was missing a portion of Combeferre’s dialogue, which must have been lost part of the way from his mind to his mouth: words liberated into the aether, not through realization as speech but as thought. He leapt ahead of himself even when fully rested and sober, eager to educate, eager to rectify; tonight, with the case being the opposite, Combeferre seemed content to press his face against Prouvaire’s knees and speak endlessly of the heavens, interrupting himself more than he elucidated, talking of progress in a modern Paris observatory and in an ancient Grecian field in the same breath. It was a lecture for himself more than for Prouvaire.

Yet even unintelligible, Combeferre’s science was an endearing habit. Of course, it had been even more endearing an hour ago, with the stars glittering above them, his words coherent and his attempts in relaying the verifiable, rather than the theological, facets of the stars more successful. Still, he had not ceased his speaking since, and even if his focus wavered, Prouvaire was disarmed by Combeferre's devotion to the questions which confounded im.

What luck that, after and during the wine, they had made it to the roof and back each intact, Prouvaire thought — above the streetlamps, the sight of the sky, even obscured partially by clouds and haze, was unforgettable.

Together they had looked upward for some time, speaking of the constellations and the great expanse of space, until Combeferre overwhelmed himself with his own thoughts and decided he liked it better to teach an astronomy lesson with his face in Prouvaire’s lap, Prouvaire's fingers combing through his wavy hair.

In a moment of very strong will, he had nudged Combeferre from his knees and snuck with him back down the stairs to return to his own bedchamber, where, once seated on the sofa, Combeferre had assumed the same position and then transitioned his lesson from the past to the present of celestial study.

Even though he preferred the humanities over the sciences, Prouvaire could not begrudge Combeferre his enthusiasm, nor his chosen physical position. It would be hypocritical of him. (Certainly, he had a habit also of lying across his friends in times of great emotional feeling.) He did not need to know trigonometry to write poetry; Combeferre, most regrettably, did not need to write poetry to know trigonometry, either. 

But together they knew more than apart, and to see Combeferre in a state as this was to see a range of emotion only rarely encountered elsewhere.

Prouvaire stroked the top of Combeferre’s head, then was rewarded with a satisfied sigh and a cat-like stretch. Combeferre rolled over, his knees tapping the wall as he did so. Wide eyed and unable to resist, Jehan pressed his palm to his friend’s forehead and twisted his fingers in the stray locks of his dark hair yet again.

“What a discovery that might be, to discover bodies beyond the seventh circle!” exclaimed Combeferre, evidently chasing what line of thought he had meant to conclude some minutes ago. “An eighth planet in orbit.”

His eyes were wide; when he turned his gaze from the ceiling — could he still see the stars, in his state of being? — to Prouvaire himself, he seemed close to smiling, even as he steadily lost his focus to what could only have been an increase of drowsiness.

The thought came to him suddenly: “beguilement,” Prouvaire murmured, petting Combeferre’s hair backward atop his head. In his lap, Combeferre shifted and hummed.

Of course, he was understood. Combeferre was very understanding, and though he did not always seem it with his order and his methods, his penchant for fantasy arose always at the most wonderful moments. “Virtues, not sins, Jean Prouvaire, even if you find Earth a stronghold of gluttony,” he said, slightly halting, clearly sleepy."If you must make the comparison, consider faith as a guiding principle."

His eyelids fluttered, then closed. His breathing relaxed; for but a moment, Prouvaire thought him asleep. Then: "notwithstanding… orbit occurs in an ellipse, not a circle."

Jean Prouvaire was decidedly not a geometer, but perhaps having a slightly intoxicated polymath going to bed in his lap compensated for it. They had prepared to sleep on the roof until Prouvaire thought better of it - yet even on the sofa, it seemed Combeferre’s own exhaustion had finally overwhelmed him.

"Above, not below," said Prouvaire to him, brushing the back of his hand along Combeferre smooth forehead, thinking of Heaven and the heavens as one.

Reaching very carefully, he pulled his woven blanket, kept on the arm of the sofa precisely for such purposes, over them both, and leaned backward into the cushions, careful not to displace Combeferre from his lap.

When he did not stir with this movement, when his breath slowed to a relaxed, even tempo, Prouvaire determined his companion had fallen fast asleep. The situation, of course, was ideal:  his flat was warm, but not unpleasantly, and Combeferre had in his memory a picture of the sky - vast, and full of stars, and souls, and most thrilling of all, at least seven planets.


End file.
